Page 114 of Hot Chocolate & Hitmen

“Nice touch,” Key calls, smirking as he ducks under a punch from another attacker. He’s bleeding from a cut above his eyebrow, but the grin on his face says he’s far from done. He grabs a loose garland from the floor, snapping it like a whip, and swings it around his attacker’s legs, tripping him with one solid yank. The guy crashes to the ground, and Key pounces.

The sounds of shouts, grunts, and the occasional pop of breaking Christmas lights fill the room, and I spot a stack of candy canes still intact on the side table.

Desperate times call for desperate measures.

I grab one, breaking the tip between my teeth until it’s a jagged point, and then I plunge it into the neck of a guy who didn’t see me coming. He howls, pulling back, blood drippingfrom his hand as he stares at the crimson-streaked candy cane encased in his palm. “What kind of psycho?—”

“You walked into the wrong house tonight,” I growl, kicking him back as he tries to steady himself.

Teddy, meanwhile, has gotten his hands on a string of jingle bells and is using them like a flail, swinging the heavy metal orbs against the skulls of the men unlucky enough to get close. Each impact is punctuated with a loud jingle, an almost absurd soundtrack to the chaos around us. One particularly unlucky guy takes a bell to the temple and goes down hard, his head likely ringing with the cheery chime.

Through the haze of flying fists and broken decorations, I catch sight of Grace again, crouching behind the Christmas tree, her eyes wide but alive with a mix of fear and determination. She’s gripping an ornament like a weapon, ready to strike if anyone gets close.

I charge toward her, cutting off another attacker who’s got his sights on her. In one fluid motion, I pick the entire tree up, ornaments and all, and use it like a battering ram. He falls back, tangled in the lights and branches. I press my foot against his chest to keep him pinned, before lifting the tree and slamming it down on his head again and again. Checking the bloody pulp underneath, I figure it’s his time to tap out, so I throw the tree aside.

Yeah, definitely dead.

“Atlas!” Grace’s warning comes just in time from her new hiding spot behind the sofa. Glancing in the direction she’s looking, I spot another guy pointing a gun at me. I dodge to the side, barely avoiding the shot, and grab the nearest thing within reach–a handful of tinsel. I rip the lid off, flinging the silvery strands into his face, blinding him for a moment as he loses his footing, getting tangled in a sparkling mess.

Not giving him time to recover, I charge forward and grab a large nutcracker from the mantel, before slamming it down on his head. He goes down, and I keep going, glancing around to see if any more are coming.

The room is littered with wreckage, the air thick with the scent of pine, smoke, and the metallic tinge of blood. The floor’s a chaotic mess of torn decorations, fallen bodies, and dark streaks of blood. My pulse is pounding so hard I can hear it in my ears, drowning out the sounds around me. Every instinct is screaming to keep moving, keep fighting, and–most of all–to keep Grace safe.

Then, through the haze, I hear them. More footsteps, coming in fast and heavy from the hall. The next wave of attackers, and they’re not coming empty-handed. I see the glint of gun barrels through the doorway as they crowd in, and every muscle in me goes taut.

Chapter Forty

Atlas locks eyes with me, the hard line of his jaw telling me everything. He grabs Grace, practically tossing her in my direction. “Get her out of here,” he barks, his voice low and urgent. I nod, wrapping an arm around her and pulling her in close, my grip steady even as chaos erupts around us.

“Come on, Grace,” I say, trying to keep my voice calm, though every instinct in me is on high alert. She’s trembling but fierce, clutching an ornament in her hand like a lifeline as I guide her toward the back, looking for any escape route we can take.

But before we even make it three steps, two of the attackers turn the corner, blocking the way with their guns raised. My heart’s pounding, every muscle primed to move. “Hide,” I snap, fear leaving my voice sharp and a bit cruel, but Grace just nods and turns to follow my order.

I’ll apologize for snapping at my angel later.

The guy on the left swings at me, his gun aimed low. I dive to the side, grabbing the nearest weapon I can find–a heavy, sugar cookie dog lying on the floor, abandoned in the chaos. It’s solid enough to do some damage, so I don’t waste a second.

The attacker lunges, and I bring the cookie up, jamming it into his face. His head jerks back, stunned, and I take my chance, driving the sharp edge of the cookie dog’s arm straight into his eye. He lets out a strangled shout, clutching his face as I shove him back.

Adrenaline pushes me forward as he goes down hard, but I don’t get any reprieve before the next guy is on me, swinging the butt of his gun at my head. I duck, feeling the wind of it pass over me, and throw my weight into him, slamming him against the wall.

Taking a breath to re-centre, I catch Grace out of the corner of my eye, eyes wide and still clutching her ornament as she plasters herself into the far corner of the room. Glancing back at me, trust and terror mingling in her gaze, the sight of her bravery re-ignites the fury inside me. I clench my jaw. I’m keeping her safe, no matter what it takes.

Getting too distracted with my thoughts, the guy recovers from my hit and tries to take a shot at me. Yanking a heavy, giant metal star decoration just in time, I hold it up like a shield as the bullet ricochets off it with a sharp clang. The impact makes my arm go numb, but I grit my teeth, swinging it like a battering ram straight into his ribs. He grunts, staggering, as it impales his chest, smashing him into the wall until he slumps down, unmoving.

Before I can even take stock, another attacker charges in, barely giving me a second to react. His arm swings wide, his gun aimed right at me. Heart racing, I survey my surroundings and grab the closest thing to me–an empty, oversized reindeer decoration left from the Christmas display. I ram it up under his jaw, the end catching him right in the throat. He almost seems unfazed, if not for the slight stumble the attack invoked and the coughing that follows. Yet, his grip on the gun remains tight, and he raises it, ready to fire.

I lunge forward, slamming my shoulder into his chest, and he goes down hard. The gun skitters across the floor, and I don’t waste a second, tackling him and driving my fist into his face again and again, until his hands drop limp at his sides.

Only an idiot grapples for a gun instead of finishing the fight when they can with pure, brute force.

Thinking we may have been granted a reprieve, I take a second to assess the room, my adrenaline spiking again when I realize there is seemingly no end to them. Another two assailants come storming in, one of them breaking off toward Atlas while the other sets his sights on Grace.

Over my dead body, asshole.

With a quick glance, I spot the small bowl of peppermint candies still on the table. I grab a handful and fling them at his face. It’s barely a distraction, but it’s enough. He flinches, his arm raised to shield his eyes from the flying peppermints as I step in, ramming him with the tray before he can blink.

Swinging his arm around, he catches my face with the butt of his gun. A shot fires off, going wide as pain explodes in my jaw, but I stay on him, grabbing a decorative Santa from the mantel and smashing it into his temple. The metallic clang reverberates, and he collapses, dazed. I finish him off with a hard kick to the ribs, sending him sprawling.

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